


Find My Way Back

by paintitb1ack



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Apocalypse world, Fix-It, Hallucifer, Hallucinations, Hell, Nightmares, Post-Episode: s13e22 Exodus, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, The Cage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 16:48:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14622981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintitb1ack/pseuds/paintitb1ack
Summary: After Sam leaves Lucifer in Apocalypse World, he is confronted by a confused and furious Jack.It's taken almost an entire season, but finally Jack learns exactly why he should stay away from Lucifer.------Here I am, again doing what the writers failed to do.





	Find My Way Back

**Author's Note:**

> “It’s not that he’s born brave. It’s not that he’s born strong. It’s that the universe has decided that this one will have grit and fire and steel in his blood. He will face trial after trial, be broken and damaged in countless ways, but this one? This one was born to fight. It’s what he knows. It’s what he does best. It’s all he can do.” - Anonymous

“Goodnight, Sam.” Mary stands in the doorway for a moment, waving faintly in her son’s direction. 

Sam waves back, albeit a bit awkwardly, before watching her rejoin Bobby and a few other survivors in what used to be Dean’s room.

After a few hours of eating and drinking - the latter probably far more than necessary - Sam and Dean separated the refugees into groups and assigned each group a room. The quarters are a bit cramped, but they don’t seem to mind; they’ve all been together for so long that they probably wouldn’t feel comfortable sleeping apart anyway. 

Sam, Dean, Cas, and Jack are all shacking up in Sam’s room, with the brothers taking the bed and the other two on the floor. The angel and nephilim don’t need sleep, but safety in numbers still seems to be the best technique at this point. Dean and Cas are already inside, the former still knocking back beers as he tries to teach the latter how to play poker.

Dean is too drunk to remember that he already showed Cas how to play almost a decade ago. 

The angel has been trying to send Sam signals, wide eyes and upward-slanted eyebrows pleading for him to help him escape. Not keen on getting involved in what is sure to be a long argument that ends with Dean passing out in a puddle of his own drool, Sam has purposely avoided Cas’ gaze.

Besides, he wants to find Jack before he heads to bed. The nephilim went missing halfway through the evening’s celebration and Sam has a sinking feeling that he knows why.

Jack and Lucifer spent the entire day in Apocalypse World together, talking and almost bonding in a way that makes Sam want to vomit. And it’s not as though people have been _encouraging_ the two of them to converse; if anything, they’ve been advising them to do the exact opposite. 

But Jack wanted to discover what Lucifer was like for himself, no outside parties involved. And Sam hates that, he _hates_ how he’s not able to protect the boy from his abusive, destructive, biological father. Worst of all, Jack doesn’t _want_ his protection. He’s feeding into the pride that comes with having archangelic powers, and there’s absolutely no way that can end well.

Sam knows that for a fact.

Walking down the stairs into the library, the younger Winchester sees Jack sitting at the far end of the table. He is leaning back in his chair, the look on his face one of both confusion and curiosity.

Relatively confident that the nephilim isn’t angry enough to send him flying across the room, Sam moves closer, the soft “Jack” that breaches his lips just loud enough for the boy to raise his head.

“Sam,” Jack replies, the name stunted. Clearly he’s a bit more irritated than the hunter originally thought. “What do you want?”

“I was just wondering how you were doing. With all of this, I mean.” Sam leans against the table a few feet away from Jack. “It’s been a tough few months, so I just wanted to check in.”

The nephilim is quiet for a moment, thumbs rubbing at his pointer fingers. Then he stands, purses his lips, and says, “Why did you leave my father behind?”

The question catches Sam by surprise, not so much because he wasn’t expecting it but because he was asked so quickly. The only lead-up he was allowed was the all-too-familiar lip purse, a movement that nearly had him backing away.

_he’s not like his dad_

Sam forces himself to lock eyes with Jack.

_remember remember he’s not like his dad_

“I don’t trust him,” the hunter says the first thing that comes to his mind. “And you shouldn’t either.”

The nephilim’s blue bores into Sam’s skull. “That was _my_ decision, _my_ choice to make.”

Sam shakes his head. “This isn’t just about you, Jack. Letting him back into our world would only make things worse.”

“How?”

 _“How?”_ The hunter sputters the word, so dumbfounded by the question that he’s not immediately sure how to answer it.

“He said he wanted to help us.”

“That’s right, he ‘ _said’._ Do you really think he intended on following through?”

“My mother is dead, Sam. I want my father to be a part of my life.”

A mirthless laugh escapes Sam’s lips. “No, you don’t,” he says. “No, you really fuckin’ don’t.”

“You’re just _guessing,”_ Jack fires back. “You don’t even know what he’s _like.”_

The accusation stops Sam in his tracks.

No one.

No one knows what he went through in The Cage, not really. If he asked Dean to guess, the only response he would get is a vague answer of “torture” before the older man changed the topic.

And he wouldn’t be wrong. Clearly he was tortured, but it was so much more than that.

The archangel would set him on fire, starting with the tips of his toes until Sam was on the floor, screaming and begging for mercy. But he would ignore his pleas, allowing the flames to melt the skin from his boy’s bones, watching as blood pooled in his mouth and his eyes fell from their sockets.

He would mime killing Sam over and over again, murmuring in his ear every time he brought him back, “I want you to remember who breathes life into you, Sam Winchester. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away? Well, sweetheart, so do I.”

But that wasn’t the worst part, not even close.

Every single day, Lucifer raped him. 

The pain was nothing compared to the humiliation he suffered at the hands of a literal monster, at being fucked by the most vile, disgusting being to ever walk the face of the earth.

At being turned into the Devil’s bitch.

If _anyone_ was to know what Lucifer is like, it’s Sam.

“Jack,” he says quietly, “I don’t think you understand.”

The nephilim’s mouth twists into a snarl. “No, it’s _you_ who doesn’t understand. I want to know and learn about my father in his own words, not yours. You would do _anything_ to keep me from him, and—”

“Exactly!” Sam bursts out. “And why do you think that is, Jack? Why do you _fucking think that is?”_

Jack falls into silence as the hunter invades his space, their noses nearly brushing against each other as Sam lowers himself to his height.

“Read me,” Sam says without thinking. “Do what your fucking father does and _read me.”_

“Sam,” the nephilim begins, startled. “I don’t think—”

“Don’t _think.”_ The hunger grabs Jack by the wrists. “Just do it.” Then he presses the boy’s hands against his temples and stares him right in the eyes, his own a furious green. 

After a moment, Jack nods. “Alright.” He nods again, repeating, “Alright.” Taking a deep breath, he begins to channel his energy, finding his way into Sam’s mind.

And what he sees horrifies him.

It’s only been a few seconds, but he wants to let go, to pull away from the memories. But the images of his father taking Sam, beating him, _owning_ him, has too tight a hold. His body is screaming in pain and, in the back of his mind, he can’t help but wonder how the hunter has survived for so many years without going insane. 

And then Jack touches on Sam’s time in the hospital, on the hallucinations that afflicted him for months and drove him nearly to the point of death. He feels all the times Sam has pressed a thumbnail into his palm, the most recent instance as near as two weeks ago during a confrontation with a reaper. He feels Sam’s nightmares, the ones he’s had consistently since his first time in The Cage.

The one of many things he never told Dean about.

Finally, the memories release him, and Jack pulls away, gasping for breath. When he finally manages to look back up at Sam, the hunter is pale and his eyes are filled with tears. The journey that Jack just went on, he clearly took Sam with him as well.

“I’m sorry,” the nephilim says softly. He turns away from Sam, shame coloring his expression. “I’m so sorry.” He’s surprised as the hunter lays a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“You’re not like you’re dad,” Sam replies. “And you never have to be. The path we take, Jack… it’s our choice.”

“But what he did to you—”

“Is not your fault.” The hunter allows himself a faint smile. “And it’s not mine either. Who our parents are, what we’ve been through, it doesn’t define us.”

Looking up at Sam through wayward strands of blonde, Jack asks, “But killing him, that would be alright?”

This time Sam actually laughs, the sound more genuine than any he’s made tonight. “Damn straight.”

“I won’t do it for you,” the nephilim says, the promise clear in his eyes. “But I _will_ help, if you’ll allow me.”

“Undoubtedly.” The hunter slides his arms around Jack’s back, pulling him into a hug. “And Lucifer better be ready,” he says, the words layered with hope and just a bit of courage. “Because you and I? We’re going to _fuck him up.”_


End file.
